Hi everyone! We have a new writing prompt for October. Be sure to send in your entries by October 27th.
Here are the guidelines for this month’s contest:
- 300 words or less
- Include the following words: fruitcake, elves, indelible ink, and mistletoe.
- Submit your story either by copying it and pasting into the form on our contact page or by simply adding it as a comment right here on this page.
Click here for the submission form or simply leave your story in the comments below.
Have fun writing!
It’s time to make the FRUITCAKE, said the ELVES as they wrote a reminder note with INDELIBLE INK, then hung it on the MISTLETOE.
Elves. She keeps talking about elves!
Sis said she would be talking about elves, always elves! Talking about them. Talking to them!
I’m here with Momma, a head cold, and jetlag.
Been gone a long time. Good to be back. Always a refuge, solid foundation. Nothing changes here. Pictures on the wall. Furniture. Always the same. Even the spot on the carpet where I spilt the indelible ink forty years ago. Still there.
Been looking forward to Momma’s fruitcake. Always eat too much. Not this time. She must’ve mixed up the salt and sugar. This time it’s terrible.
Now she’s calling me “Michael.” That ticks me off. He’s been dead twenty years, off in some African jungle.
She wants “Michael” to go get mistletoe from the tree out back.
Says Dad’ll be home soon. But, Dad died right after Michael.
“Get the mistletoe for Dad!” Now she’s crying.
I grab a flashlight, stomp out, slam the backdoor, grab the garden rake on the back porch.
Six inches of snow, shoes ruined. Feet like ice cubes. Left my coat in the house.
Lot’s of mistletoe. I knock some down, along with snow, dirt, moss, bark.
My face, hair, eyes – full of it.
Throwing the rake down, I stomp back into the house.
She’s still sitting there. Not moving, not talking. Mouth open. Vacant stare.
Dropping everything, I rush over.
No pulse! Cheeks still wet with tears.
Ambulance on the way.
I hold her. “I’m sorry, Momma.”
“I love you, Momma.”
Now, she could call me Michael, George, Fred, anything – just let me hear her voice one more time.
But, now it’s just too late!
How Fruitcake Got it’s Color
The king asked the elves if they could make a fruitcake for the Queens upcoming birthday, fruitcake was
The fruitcake was put under the balcony to rest. Fruitcake has to rest for a while so all the flavors can get
The Queen’s daughter Willamina, wanted some colorful posters made to announce her mother’s birthday
party. She called the kingdom scribe, she really liked him a lot. He set his small work table on the balcony
above the fruitcake. He hung a large piece of mistletoe above his table, he also liked her a lot, but was
too embarrassed to tell. He set his colored ink on the balcony rail by his table. He finished the first poster
then called Willamina, to get her approval before he proceeded With the rest of the posters, when she
opened her door her two cats ran out chasing each other and jumped on the balcony rail knocking the
indelible ink off. You guessed it all over the fruitcake. The elves were scared to death and tried to clean all
those indelible ink dots off but to no avail.
The king was playing croquet with his son Floyd, when he heard about how the fruitcake was ruined. He
was furious, he was ready to put someone in the dungeon. As the king got closer to the kitchen he heard
laughter. Willamina, met him at the door she was so excited she had just kissed the love of her life under
the mistletoe and she knew her mother would love the red, green, and yellow ink dots on the fruitcake.
The king was happy too, he knew his wife wouldn’t put him in the dungeon. Now you know how fruitcake
got its color and why it’s so expensive, indelible ink was like gold.
Ricky Starr (300 words) E.T.W.G. October Flash Fiction 03/26/2012
Fruitcake, Mistletoe and Elves
Three words, each one pulls memories from my mind where they are permanently embedded like indelible ink on stone.
Fruitcake sliced and individually wrapped and placed in our stockings along with a candy cane, walnuts, almonds, at least one brazil nut and a mandarin orange which I would find in the bottom of my toy box several months later, brown, hard and shriveled. I wasn’t a fan of mandarin oranges.
Mistletoe was picked from the trees along the Kings River where it passed by our grandmother’s ranch in the San Joaquin Valley, gathered in small bunches, tied with red satin ribbon and sold for ten cents a bunch to our neighbors.
Recently I was reminded of the little toy elves we sold some fifty years ago as a music department fundraiser. One of my classmates still has hers and uses it to this day to decorate for Christmas. I bought one for myself and kept it on my night stand when I was in my teens. It was eventually promoted to sitting on the clock radio I got for graduation. I loved the radio; I just wish it had been the cedar chest I dreamed about, made by Lane and with a cushioned bench top.
Memories, so many, good and bad.